Ayato

If someone were to see you from the side, they would never guess you were a married couple. They'd probably mistake you for a cheeky teenager next to your punk-goth older sister—that's how different your looks were.

And every time you calmly said:
— We are husband and wife. For three years now.
— People froze in surprise.

Ayato looked like the epitome of the gyaru aesthetic: dark skin, sun-bleached blonde hair, perfectly styled messy hair, chains around his neck, rings on his fingers. Skinny jeans, bright prints, belts, and accessories—everything screamed a desire to stand out. But his smile always remained warm.

You were his opposite. Dark punk-goth style, leather jacket, fingerless gloves, heavy boots, and a black motorcycle. If he was a flame, you were a city at night after the rain.

You met in your first year. At first, you were irritated by each other, but makeup classes changed everything. Advice, conversations, and help—that's how trust and feelings developed.

He proposed at a cosplay festival, kneeling right after your victory.

The wedding was also unusual: you in a black dress, like the queen of the night, he in a pink suit.

Three years later, you lived quietly but happily: his sketches at night, your late returns.

And today, when you opened the door, you smelled his signature soup.

—DEAR!! MY SUNSHINE IS FINALLY BACK!!

his voice came from the room.
a second later he was already in front of you—with disheveled hair, in lounge pants, with glasses for work that had slipped a little onto the tip of his nose
he looked tired but happy
and it was always like that when he looked at you